


Across the Wasteland

by menel



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, Established Relationship, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-19 18:33:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4756715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amidst the chaos of the escape from New Delphi, the pursuit of Julian’s army, evading the nomadic Tribe and roving 8-balls, the journey back to Vega gives Alex and Michael time to figure things out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Since their somewhat awkward hug outside the supermarket where they’d scrounged up medical supplies for Noma and other supplies for the trip back to Vega, Michael had not touched him – no comforting hand on his shoulder, no encouraging pat on the back, no gentle squeeze of his arm, not even a trace of that fond smile that Alex believed belonged to him alone. After months of being apart, Alex felt the Archangel’s presence, or lack thereof, acutely. Despite his apology and Michael’s acceptance of it, a chasm had opened between them. Michael had become unreadable to him once more. It was like starting over again, only worse, because Alex knew the Archangel now; knew him to be flesh and blood, capable of love and sorrow, rage and vengeance, and all the other emotions people didn’t think he possessed. If Alex were unable to bridge the divide between them, to repair what had been broken, to recover what had been lost, he wouldn’t survive the rest of his journey, and he didn’t mean that in a literal sense. 

Alex adjusted the final few screws on the carburetor and checked the water in the radiator before shutting the hood of their borrowed pickup. He glanced surreptitiously at Michael and Noma, who were engaged in a quiet conversation away from him. Noma had been different since they’d fled New Delphi. It wasn’t just her terrible wound (and Alex still couldn’t wrap his head around her staggering sacrifice for him). There was something else bothering her and he suspected that she was confiding in Michael now. 

_Too many secrets_ , he thought. Followed by, _My angel protectors_.

That last thought should’ve filled him with warmth, but Alex was too unsettled. He was worried about both of them; and he wondered how things had become so complicated, so intertwined, among the three of them. Noma’s love for him was deeper than he had ever imagined, and he cringed when he remembered how carelessly he had treated her in the past. She had been the one to break things off with him once a senior officer of the Archangel Corps had discovered their relationship. Of course, Alex hadn’t known that detail at the time, but that shouldn’t have mattered. He should’ve fought harder for her. Had she really meant so little to him then? 

Then there was Michael, whom Alex was only now beginning to understand had watched over him since he was a child even though Alex had been oblivious to the Archangel’s protection at the time. Michael’s words, spoken to him all those months ago in his childhood home, “You were never alone,” now echo painfully. He had grossly underestimated Michael’s care and love. In the beginning, when his destiny had first been revealed to him, he’d rebuffed Michael’s help and guidance; he’d fought the Archangel every step of them way, believing that Michael was only paying attention to him now that he had been marked as the Chosen One when the truth was that Michael had been with him all along; had given him an angelic weapon – a knife made of Empyrean steel – long before Alex would ever know about the path he was meant to walk. 

Alex had no idea where or how to begin patching things up with the Archangel, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that the journey across the Wasteland would take five days, perhaps less if they pushed hard, made good time, and didn’t run into too many enemies. Their chances of reaching Vega quicker had improved now that Michael had joined them. Despite the threat Julian’s 8-ball army posed to Vega, Alex selfishly didn’t want the journey to pass too quickly. He thought of it as an unlikely time out. Perhaps it would be his best chance to patch things up with Michael, to make sure they were both on the same page before the madness swirled around them once again when they arrived in Vega. He would make the most of this time. 

“We’re good to go here,” he said loudly in order to get Noma and Michael’s attention. 

The two angels looked at him, Michael nodding his head in acknowledgement. They made their way towards the rundown pickup, with Noma sliding in to sit in the center while Michael took the passenger’s side. When the three of them were settled, Alex hotwired the car. The engine flared to life and then they were on their way.


	2. Chapter 2

Michael never enjoyed being cooped up in tight spaces. Together with always looking for the highest perch, the Archangel preferred open plains. He tolerated driving for the sake of his human charge, and the humans he had lived among in Vega but like all higher angels he preferred to stretch his wings and fly. Once they cleared the woods around the outlying plains of New Delphi, Michael began scouting ahead, directing Alex on the clearest path back to Vega. 

The Wasteland deserved its name. There were few roads to follow here, just endless miles of dust. It was a dangerous expanse, not only because of the bands of roving 8-balls – fierce and brutal, unlike their more domesticated counterparts in New Delphi – but also because of The Tribe, a group of nomads that traversed the Wasteland. Among the settlements that had sprouted in the cradle, the Tribe, with its transient existence was the group that people knew the least about. Rumors were rampant about The Tribe – that they were bloodthirsty criminals, that they practiced cannibalism among others – but none of these rumors had been confirmed. For all the fear The Tribe evoked in others, there was so little contact with them that they’d become a somewhat mythic group. Still, it was a safe bet that any group of people hardened by the Extermination War and its aftermath who willing chose to wander across the harsh desert-like climate of the Wasteland would be a force to be reckoned with. Alex would rather not run into them on their journey home, and Michael seemed to be of a like mind since he appeared to be tracking their movements from the skies. 

Secretly, Alex also thought that Michael was avoiding him and scouting ahead was a legitimate excuse to not be in Alex’s company. Of course, Alex had no proof of this and his conscience prickled him at the uncharitableness of his thoughts. Beside him, Noma remained quiet and subdued. The Noma he knew would’ve insisted that they take turns at the wheel, but Noma hadn’t even offered to drive and neither had Alex suggested it. He knew that Noma was depressed and that her spirits were low. He chalked up her sudden recalcitrance to her physical injuries. She should be resting not driving, and he left it at that. 

The first night in the Wasteland was spent outdoors with the pickup providing what shelter it could. Michael had built a fire since the temperature had dropped. Although Alex had sewn up the wounds on Noma’s back, Michael insisted on examining them. He pulled out one of his feathers and did that trick with the fire that Alex had watched him perform to heal himself recently. The fine ash covered the garish slashes on Noma’s back and then the wounds closed, the thread that Alex had used to seal the wounds dissolving in their wake. Noma’s back was a smooth caramel in the flickering firelight and the sight should’ve been beautiful except for what it meant – Noma no longer had wings. With her wounds healed and the pain gone, Noma finally broke down. Alex wanted to comfort her, but she turned and leaned into Michael and the Archangel gathered her in his embrace. Noma cried softly as Michael held her and Alex felt intrusive in this private moment. He gave the two angels their privacy, knowing that this was what they needed. He would speak to Michael another time.

* * * * *

The second day across the Wasteland passed much the same way as the first. Michael continued to scout ahead, periodically flying back to tell Alex which direction to take. Noma was in better spirits and Alex was relieved when she offered to exchange driving duties with him. They talked a lot more during the day but stayed on safe topics – their training for the Archangel Corps, reminiscing about some of Ethan’s wilder antics. They didn’t touch upon their captivity in the eyrie or how everything had gone from bad to worse in New Delphi. Noma still firmly believed that it had been a mistake to leave the amphora behind. It amounted to leaving an angelic weapon of mass destruction in Julian’s sadistic hands, but there was nothing they could do about that now except get to Vega before Julian’s 8-ball army.

Since they kept conversation light, Alex could almost believe that they were on just another road trip; that the fate of humanity didn’t rest on their shoulders, that his destiny wasn’t a burden that he carried. Once, with Noma still laughing at something he’d said, Michael slipped into the still moving pickup as was his tendency, and Alex flashed the Archangel a genuinely warm and unguarded smile before he realized what he was doing. Michael responded with a small smile of his own – a mixture of the fond smile that Alex missed, with a touch of indulgence at their good humor. Alex longed to lean into Michael as Noma had done the night before, to feel the Archangel’s arms around him, but he held himself back, settling instead for resting his leg against Michael’s thigh. In the cramped space of the pickup, Michael couldn’t move away from him even if the angel wanted to and Alex was selfishly thankful. There was no time to glance to his right to gauge Michael’s reaction because Noma was speaking again, still slightly breathless from her laughter. 

“Hey, remember that time when . . .”

* * * * *

They took their lunch break in the shade of what appeared to be the only tree for miles. Alex parked the pickup under the overhanging branches and then watched in fascination as Michael used the tip of one of his wings to slice open a can of peaches that they’d taken from the supermarket. The large wing curved delicately and precisely over the small can as Michael maneuvered the limb deftly. Alex could safely say that angel wings as can openers was an idea that had _never_ crossed his mind.

“Is there anything angel wings _can’t_ do?” he asked, as Michael passed him the opened can. 

“No,” Michael deadpanned back. 

Belatedly, Alex realized his thoughtlessness when he caught Noma’s tight smile. It seemed too awkward to apologize to her, but he was going to do it anyway when she pre-empted him. 

“Those will probably kill us,” Noma pointed out, gesturing at the can of expired peaches. 

“I dunno,” Alex replied, poking at the peaches with a plastic fork. “They look all right.” He speared a slice of peach and put it his mouth, chewed and swallowed. “Aside from the metallic aftertaste, they taste all right too.” 

Noma still looked dubious. 

“Here, Noma,” Michael said, pulling a candy bar out of his pocket. “For you.” He tossed the bar towards her, which she caught effortlessly. 

“What? I don’t get one?” Alex asked the Archangel a little incredulously. 

“You have a can of peaches,” Michael replied. “And I only had one bar.” He stood up. “I’ll see if there’s any game to be hunted later,” he told them. 

“You hunt?” Alex couldn’t help but tease. 

“I’m an excellent hunter,” Michael said, so calmly that Alex wondered if a double entendre was to be found in the statement. He hoped so. 

“I’m glad he’s back with us,” Noma said quietly, when Michael took to the skies once more. 

“Me too,” Alex agreed.

* * * * *

On the second night they made camp much as they did the first, only this time Alex was the one who built the fire.

“We’re rotating the watch tonight,” Noma declared. She hated feeling useless and she wasn’t about to spend another night crying on Michael’s shoulder. 

“Then I’ll take the first watch,” Alex said. “Get some rest,” he told Noma. “I’ll wake you when it’s your turn. That goes for you too,” he added, looking at Michael. He didn’t think the Archangel had slept at all the night before, watching over them the whole night. 

Noma agreed, heading for the pickup in order to stretch out on the front seat but Michael didn’t move from his spot by the fire. When they were finally alone, Alex sat down beside him but Michael’s gaze remained fixed on the fire and the Archangel looked deep in thought. Alex wanted to ask him what he was thinking, but he didn’t have the courage. Instead, he said: 

“She’ll be out of gas by mid morning.” He gestured behind them at the pickup. “Unless we get lucky and find some fuel, we’ll be walking the rest of the way to Vega. Most of us,” he added, wondering how quickly Michael could make the trip by himself. Probably less than a day, he estimated. 

At first, Alex thought Michael wasn’t going to respond to his statement but the Archangel eventually said, his focus still on the fire, “It is curious that human males have the propensity to ascribe female pronouns to vehicles, especially ones belonging to them. From my experience, this habit appears to be true the world over, regardless of culture.” 

“ _That’s_ what you have to say when I tell you that we’re running out of gas?”

At last, Michael looked at him. “It is merely an observation,” he offered. “Running out of gas was always a likely scenario,” he continued, returning his attention to the fire again. “There are some abandoned vehicles that I’ve seen from the sky. Perhaps we can siphon their unused gas.” 

“If it hasn’t been taken already,” Alex added. 

“Indeed,” Michael agreed. The Archangel stood up. 

“Michael,” Alex immediately said. 

The Archangel looked down at him, waiting for Alex to speak but Alex felt tongue-tied. He wanted to ask Michael to stay, to sit with him for a while, but he couldn’t think of any reason to prolong him especially since he’d been the one to insist that Michael should also get some rest. There was a time not too long ago when Michael would’ve simply stayed, no prodding required, and they would’ve enjoyed each other’s company even if it were only a companionable silence. Alex missed those days. 

“I’ll ask Noma to wake you for your watch,” he finally said, somewhat lamely. 

Michael nodded before he left Alex alone by the fire. Alex wondered where the Archangel intended to rest.

* * * * *

On the morning of the third day, Michael magically produced fresh fruit for them to eat.

“Where would you even find this?” Alex asked, tearing away the skin of an orange. 

“I don’t care,” Noma answered for the Archangel. “It beats canned peaches.” 

“We still have the canned beans,” Alex reminded her, teasingly. “And that beef jerky.” 

“Yummy,” Noma replied, the sarcasm pouring off of her. 

Alex enjoyed his orange, but the appearance of the fruit gave him pause. It probably meant that Michael had ranged far and wide during the night, and it made him wonder yet again how much sleep the Archangel had gotten. 

After a quick breakfast, they were back on the road. Alex’s estimate of how much fuel they had left turned out to be pretty accurate. By this time, Michael had steered them towards the abandoned vehicles that he’d spotted. They were on a narrow road, Alex stopping the pickup in front of what looked to him to be an ambush site. There were four vehicles in front of them: two cars, one van and another pickup. Scattered among the vehicles were bodies in various stages of decay. Some of the corpses were fresh, others looked like they’d been there for several days, still others for weeks. The smell of the decaying bodies carried to them over the wind. 

“This just looks like a trap,” Noma stated. 

“It is,” Michael agreed. 

“But the fuel is worth the risk,” Alex said, finishing Michael’s train of thought. “Let’s be quick,” he said, getting out of the pickup. He got the two plastic containers that they’d picked up from the supermarket, as well as the tube of rubber piping that had already been in the pickup. He passed one of the containers to Noma. Aside from Michael, they weren’t armed, but Alex made do with an L-shaped tire wrench that had also come from the pickup. 

Together they approached the first vehicle cautiously, Michael’s hands resting lightly on the handles of his twin blades, ready to draw them at a moment’s notice. Alex held the tire wrench firmly while Noma bent down to check the fuel tank, threading the tube of rubber piping inside. 

“Empty,” she informed them, not sounding the least bit surprised. 

They made their way to the second car, which was the van. Just as Noma was checking the fuel tank again, an 8-ball leaped from the roof. Michael cut it down instantly, but the ambush was swift. Two more 8-balls appeared from behind the front of the van, and a third from the rear. Alex was caught in between the pair of 8-balls at the front of the van. He slashed at both of them with the tire wrench to keep them at bay. Michael was immediately by his side, dispatching the first 8-ball with a blade through its gullet before smoothly turning and finishing the second 8-ball with another blade in its chest. Noma had taken care of the last 8-ball. Even without a weapon, she had managed to get near enough to grapple with the creature, eventually immobilizing it and snapping its neck. 

“A hunting party,” Michael observed, eyeing the fallen creatures around them. “Bands of roving 8-balls are common in the Wasteland.” 

“Well, that’s not encouraging,” Alex told him. “Think that’s the last of them?” 

“For now,” Michael replied. “Check the rest of the vehicles for fuel.” 

The fuel tank in the van also turned out to be empty, but after that their luck changed. The second car still had a quarter of its gas, but it was the pickup that turned out to be a goldmine. Not only was its tank nearly full, but there was also a spare container of gas hidden underneath a tarpaulin in the cargo hold. 

“Unbelievable,” Alex breathed. “This will last us at least two days, possibly three. We might be able to drive right up to the gates of Vega.” 

“Finally, some good news,” Noma agreed. 

“We’re on the clock,” Michael reminded them. “Julian may already have sent his army to Vega. We must arrive before them.” 

Michael’s words had a sobering effect that spurred them into action. 

“We should just change vehicles,” Alex suggested. He motioned towards the red pickup. It was spattered with dried mud and the darker stains looked like dried blood, but it looked to be in good shape. “That pickup looks like its in better condition than ours, and it’ll save time. We won’t have to siphon the fuel.” 

“See if it will start,” Michael said. 

Alex went to have a closer look at the red pickup, while Noma siphoned the fuel from the second car into one of their containers. After a few minutes, the engine of the red pickup roared to life and Alex tapped the roof of the vehicle to signal the others. 

“Let’s roll!” he called out. 

Michael and Noma quickly transferred the rest of their supplies from the old pickup and joined Alex in the new one, Noma once more sitting in the center and Michael in the passenger side. Then they were on the road again. 

If Alex thought that changing vehicles might change Michael’s attitude to being in one for a long drive, he was mistaken. The Archangel took off again after several miles and Alex had to tap down on his disappointment. Like the previous day, he and Noma alternated driving duties. Their new pickup had a miraculously still-working CD player and a small collection of CDs to choose from. 

“I don’t know who these people are,” Noma said, sifting through the albums. 

“That one,” Alex told her, gesturing to the record in her hand. 

Noma read the title of the album aloud. “Let It Bleed?” she said, somewhat dubiously. 

“It’s a Rolling Stones classic, Nomes. You’ll love it.” 

Noma slipped the CD into the player and distinctive opening bars of “Gimme Shelter” filled the cabin.

* * * * *

After their encounter with the 8-balls, the rest of the day passed uneventfully except for the one moment when Michael appeared and urgently told Alex to start heading west.

“That’s not the way to Vega,” Alex pointed out. 

“No,” Michael agreed, his expression serious. “But there is a convoy of heavily armed military vehicles headed our way. It would be best to avoid them.” 

“Julian’s army?” Noma immediately asked. 

Michael shook his head. “I believe it is the Tribe,” he answered. 

“The Tribe?” Noma repeated. “You mean they’re real?” 

“They are very real,” Michael confirmed. “Head west,” he told Alex again. “We’ll drive around them. We’re still far enough away that we should avoid their advanced scouts.” 

Alex veered west. He hated wasting the extra fuel, but he understood that the diversion was necessary. 

That night they made camp against the shelter of a ridge. They had veered so far west to avoid the Tribe that they were traveling along the border of the Wasteland, following the curve of a canyon until it was safe enough to take a more direct route to Vega. Michael had also made good on his promise to go hunting and had killed two hares, so they had fresh meat for supper. 

“This is disgusting,” Noma said, as she used one of Michael’s blades to skin one of the hares. Alex was skinning the second hare, also using Michael’s other blade. “And why aren’t you doing this?” she asked the Archangel. 

“Division of labor,” Michael answered calmly. “I did catch them,” he added. When Noma didn’t look appeased, he offered, “I’ll cook.” 

Alex inwardly smiled and focused on removing the skin around the hare’s hind legs. It was tough going, and Noma was right. This was unpleasant work. But Alex felt a semblance of normalcy with Michael’s offer to cook. He had firsthand experience of how much Michael enjoyed cooking – of how _good_ the Archangel was at it. “I have always had an interest in human food preparation,” Michael had once told him at the Stratosphere’s rather expansive kitchen. After Alex had gotten over his initial shock at learning that Michael had hobbies and that one of them was apparently cooking (and baking), he began looking forward to Michael’s meals. They were a hundred times better than whatever rations were given to soldiers and other lower-ranking Vs. It was over those quiet dinners with a bottle of wine (Alex had never appreciated wine before then) that Alex began to see the Archangel in a new light, had finally grown to appreciate his company outside of their grueling training schedule. The dinners and downtime was something he anticipated at the end of the day, and it became part of their routine for Alex to use the Archangel’s shower while Michael prepared dinner. It wasn’t long after that that dinner and drinking led to after-dinner activities that Michael – for all the stories Alex had heard about the Archangel’s proclivities and sexual appetite – had at first resisted. Michael had been laboring under the belief that certain boundaries had to be kept between them, and that winding up in bed would be a breach of those boundaries. Alex didn’t care anymore. He had been aggressive with his advances, and even the Archangel’s fabled self-control eventually broke under his onslaught. 

Taking their relationship to another level hadn’t been a mistake. Alex thought everything between them became even better once they started sleeping together. Michael opened up to him more; the training was smoother, and all the tension that had bothered Alex before (which he belatedly realized had been sexual tension) completely disappeared. Alex had been gaining confidence in his abilities, and with Michael’s guidance, defeating Gabriel no longer seemed like an impossibility. Of course, that was before Gabriel had schemed and deceived them all, knowing which buttons to push to trigger Michael’s wrath and blackmailing Alex to come to the eyrie. Without Michael’s protection and fearing for Claire and his unborn baby’s life, Alex had no choice but to capitulate. His anger and resentment at Michael’s abandonment had been extreme, but it had also been those strong feelings that had kept him alive in the eyrie. He hated Gabriel with every fiber of his being, and though he hadn’t realized it at the time, some part of him intuitively knew that he’d see Michael again, that his time with the Archangel was far from over. He just hadn’t known when or how or even what his reaction would be. He was just as likely to throw himself at the Archangel, as he was to punch him in the gut. But when he finally saw Michael again so unexpectedly at New Delphi, he had felt paralyzed by the shock of it, especially since he had been expecting Gabriel. He could barely string a coherent sentence together and the first words out of his mouth had been an accusation: “Where have you _been_?” It was revealing that Michael’s first words had been an apology. So much had changed, not just for him but for Michael too. Though they hadn’t yet had a chance to talk like they used to, Alex could tell that Michael was different. They were all different. 

Alex contemplated all this as he removed the last bit of skin from the hare. He wiped down Michael’s blade with a rag when he was done, the dark Empyrean steel glinting like liquid diamonds in the firelight. The blade was beautiful, its craftsmanship exceptional, and Michael wielded the weapons with deadly grace. 

“Where did you get this?” Alex asked absently, as he continued to clean the blade. 

“It was a gift,” Michael replied. 

“From your Father?” 

“From my brother.” 

Alex stilled his actions and looked up. “You mean from Gabriel?” he clarified. 

“Yes.” 

Suddenly, the blade had become heavier in his hands. Michael and Gabriel. Alex had always known that they were brothers. But it had shocked him to learn that they were twins, and that this knowledge had come from Julian of all people. Alex didn’t pretend to understand Michael’s relationship with Gabriel. He didn’t want to see Gabriel as anything other than a monster who had to be stopped. It was simply easier that way. But watching how the two Archangels had interacted in his poorly judged alliance with Julian to trap Michael and kill Gabriel gave him pause, as did Gabriel’s vehement threat that any harm that came to Michael because of Alex would be visited on Claire and his baby ten-fold. He viewed Gabriel as a cruel, cold-blooded killer – the Exterminator of the human race – but the love he displayed for Michael was heartfelt and true. For the first time, Alex was beginning to understand Michael’s sacrifice, his personal loss in turning away from his family to stand with humanity. That act was just something that Alex had always taken for granted: Michael fighting for humans and saving a baby had become a myth; a myth that a new religion had been built upon. Though Alex had a personal relationship with the Archangel now, sometimes it was still hard to reconcile the Archangel Michael of the Myth of the Chosen One with the Michael he knew. 

He handed the blade back to Michael, the action carrying added significance now that he knew whom the blades were from. There was so much Alex wanted to ask the Archangel, not just about Gabriel but about where Michael had been, what he had been doing while they were apart. He wondered if Michael had even thought about him, and what had eventually brought Michael back to him. Instead, he said the most mundane thing, “Your turn,” and gave Michael the skinned hare. 

Dinner was a quiet affair. Michael roasted the hares over the open flame. Their meat was tender and surprisingly juicy. 

“Did you season this?” Alex asked at one point, in awe of Michael’s culinary skills. 

“Just a little sea salt,” Michael answered. 

“You have sea salt with you?” Alex pressed. 

“I spent some time by the sea,” Michael replied, a slight twinkle in his eye. 

Alex didn’t know whether he should laugh or not. He couldn’t tell anymore if the Archangel was baiting him. Their easy banter was a thing of the past. 

Noma sighed in contentment. “It’s great, Michael,” she said. “Real food. We appreciate it.” 

Noma retired shortly after eating, telling the other two to wake when it was her turn to take the watch. They were slipping into a routine and Noma preferred the second watch. 

“You think she’s okay?” Alex asked, when he was sure that Noma was out of their hearing range. 

“She will be,” Michael said after a moment. “She’s still adjusting to the loss of her wings, both physically and emotionally.” 

“Psychologically,” Alex added quietly and Michael nodded in assent. 

“Noma is strong,” Michael continued. “She will overcome this.” 

Alex shook his head. “She never should’ve done it,” he said. 

“It was necessary.” 

Alex looked up at Michael who was sitting across the fire from him. Those were the exact words that Noma had used to justify her actions. He hadn’t been entirely convinced then; he still wasn’t entirely convinced now. The sacrifice had been too much. 

“Was it?” he threw back challengingly. 

Michael held his gaze and Alex felt rooted to the spot. “It is done,” he said firmly. 

Alex recognized that tone. It meant the discussion was over. As if to confirm this, Michael added, “I will take the first watch.” 

It sounded like a dismissal to Alex, but the Archangel wouldn’t be rid of him so easily tonight. “Where’ve you been?” he asked bluntly. When Michael didn’t respond, he continued. “You never answered that question back in New Delphi. Where’ve you been?” he asked again. “What’ve you been doing?” _What made you come back?_

Michael’s expression remained impassive as he contemplated the questions. His gaze was focused on the fire again, like it had been the previous night. Alex was starting to wonder if the fire had any significance for him. 

“After I left Vega,” Michael began so quietly that Alex almost missed the words. “I wandered around the country. Aimlessly. Drifting from place to place. I no longer had a sense of purpose. I guess you could say I had a crisis of faith.” 

Alex did his best to digest the words. Michael and a crisis of faith. It didn’t seem possible. 

“Faith hasn’t done anyone much good these days,” Michael said, the self-deprecation in his tone unmistakable. 

“But you found it again,” Alex said tentatively. “Your purpose and your faith. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.” 

“Yes.” 

“How?” 

The Archangel let out a small sigh and sat back more comfortably against the rock on which he was resting. “I stumbled on a small town in Alabama called Mallory. I was drawn to them by their singing.” He paused. “I’m starting to believe that it was not an accident that I found Mallory, that some force guided me there.” 

“Your Father?” 

Michael glanced at him. “Perhaps,” he conceded. “Mallory is a special place. They are protected by an eternal flame, a bonfire at the center of the town that does not go out.” 

Alex suddenly understood Michael’s new fascination with fire. 

“So long as the fire continues to burn, the possessed are unable to enter the town’s borders. And if they do, they are set alight by the flame, burned from the inside out.” 

“The burned 8-balls back at the farmhouse,” Alex said. “That’s what you meant when you said you’d seen it before.” 

“Yes.” 

“But how? Who has that kind of power?” 

“The townspeople say that at the start of the Extermination War, a prophet came to them bearing instructions from God and lighting the flame. So long as they lived by God’s new Word, the town would be kept safe.” 

“You believe that?” Alex asked, a little incredulously. 

“I am not sure,” Michael admitted. “The town _is_ protected. Of that, I have no doubt. At first, I was certain that a false prophet had deceived them, but now . . .” Michael trailed off and his expression grew contemplative again. 

“But now?” Alex prodded when Michael didn’t seem inclined to continue. He was leaning forward, intently listening to the Archangel’s story.

“It is said that God speaks to every person in Mallory, especially to the leader of the town. I went to their Church. I prayed there. But all I heard was silence.” 

“Then it can’t be God,” Alex declared. “He would have something to say to _you_ , Michael.” 

The Archangel smiled then, the soft fond smile that Alex had missed terribly and he felt a warmth bloom in his chest. 

“Mallory carries a dark secret,” Michael went on. “Every five years the leader of the town takes the confession of every townsperson. On the night of the celebration, the leader sacrifices themself at the altar of the Church, and so takes all the sins of the town to their grave. In that way, the town is cleansed and remains free of sin.”

“Human sacrifice?” Alex shook head. “I dunno. Isn’t that kind of extreme?” 

“It is not as uncommon or as extreme as you may think,” Michael countered. “Father has asked it of others many times before.” 

“But if you’re not even really sure this town is protected by God,” Alex said, thinking aloud. “How did you find your faith there?” Before Michael could respond, Alex answered his own question. “You met someone.” 

“Yes.” 

Alex hated that he was right. 

“Her name is Laurel. She is the leader of the town.” 

“You love her.” 

“Yes.” 

The warmth that had bloomed in Alex’s chest just a moment ago evaporated to be replaced by a kind of tightness, as though it had become difficult to breathe. Of course, Michael had met someone special. 

“Tell me about her,” Alex managed to say. 

“Laurel reminded me that some promises cannot be broken. Like my promise to you. She is a rare light in such dark times. To know that such goodness and purity still exists . . . it gave me hope. It renewed my faith that the human race is worth saving, that the path that I have chosen is just.” Michael paused. “It is people like Laurel, like _you_ , Alex, that will bring Father home.” 

Alex looked away. He had wanted Michael to open up to him again, but it was hard to hear these words. He didn’t begrudge Laurel. If Michael hadn’t met her, he may never have found his way back to Alex. For that alone, Alex should be grateful. But he wasn’t the person Michael thought he was. There was no goodness or purity about him. He was just another flawed human being who seemed to be making one bad decision after another. Some Chosen One. How could he save the human race when he could barely save himself? 

“Alex.” 

The command in Michael’s tone was compelling and Alex found himself looking back at the Archangel. “I’m not,” he began and halted. “I’m not . . . how can you say that about me? After what I did to you?” 

The smile was back, this time filled with so much compassion and understanding that Alex thought his heart was breaking. 

“We have all made mistakes,” Michael stated. “I should never have abandoned you. But that is all in the past.” 

Alex nodded, still not trusting himself to speak. 

“You should rest,” Michael said, echoing Alex’s words from the night before. 

Alex stood up. He meant to leave, perhaps curl up in the back of the pickup but the fire was warm and Michael was here. He crossed their small campsite until he was standing in front of the Archangel. He hesitated, watching Michael carefully before settling down, stretching out on the hard earth and using Michael’s lap as a pillow. They used to do this all the time at the Stratosphere. After a moment, Alex felt Michael shift and then something warm was being draped over his shoulders. He realized that Michael had removed his coat. They weren’t in the Stratosphere on Michael’s luxurious bed, but with the Archangel’s coat as a blanket and the gentle pressure of Michael’s hand on his arm, he could almost pretend that they were. Alex fell asleep with the familiar feeling of Michael’s fingers carding through his hair.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Dominion_ belongs to Syfy and Vaun Wilmott. No offense is intended, no profit is being made.


End file.
